


Dante's Inferno

by The Key To Imagine (whiskeywit)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 13:08:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10438392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeywit/pseuds/The%20Key%20To%20Imagine
Summary: Title: Dante's Inferno – Purgatory (1/10?)Rating: PG (will most likely go up as story continues)Word Count: 1176Disclaimer: I don't own the Beatles; this story is purely fictional. No copyright infringement is intended.A/N: A new series! Even though I promised myself not to start on anything new until I finish the Maxwell Institution. Either way – I got inspired by the Dante's Inferno test results, which I saw on my F-list. I hope you like it – it's yet again trying out something different (although others may have done something alike before). It is about heaven – but certainly no cloudiness with a great golden gate and Saint Peter who makes the decision for them: enter the gate or go. Leave a comment, and constructive criticism is appreciated.





	1. Purgatory

**Author's Note:**

> Backup of old fic originally posted to the Beatles community JohnheartPaul, currently residing on key_to_imagine. Summary contains the header as is on the LJ post.
> 
> Originally posted 17 FEBRUARY 2009.

  
_The Purgatory:_ __

You have escaped damnation and made it to Purgatory, a place where the dew of repentance washes off the stain of sin and girds the spirit with humility. Through contrition, confession, and satisfaction by works of righteousness, you must make your way up the mountain. As the sins are cleansed from your soul, you will be illuminated by the Sun of Divine Grace, and you will join other souls, smiling and happy, upon the summit of this mountain. Before long you will know the joys of Paradise as you ascend to the ethereal realm of Heaven.  


  
  
  
John and Paul were walking through a place that was unknown to both. It was pretty though, and the dew on the grass was still fresh, on this early morning. Birds were chirping everywhere around them, and high up in the morning sky flew a white dove – a bringer of Peace, which made the two men smile at each other, and grasp hold of the other's hand, the warm palms pressing together.   
  
There was a mountain in the far distance, and although either knew they should be heading there, they didn't yet. The sun was rising, higher and higher above their heads, above their clean cut mop tops and the millions of thoughts that were going on in their heads.   
  
Other than the birds, everything around them was as quiet as it could be. There were no angry shouts from people that disagreed with them, no screaming from fans, and not the rumble of a city with its traffic and fabrics, ever-going on like it was a business or a machine that had to keep on running, failing if it would stop – the sounds not even fading as the lights would fade away at night. The sparkling stars high above their heads were fading, as the sun kept on rising, illuminating the green fields they were walking upon, the dew that was starting to turn into damp, which meant a veil of mist that was thicker in some places than on others, and only adding to the surreal feel to the place.   
  
Their feet were bare, but even if they stepped on a cobblestone, hidden beneath the cool grass, nothing hurt them – not here. Nothing could do them any harm. No words had been spoken between them yet, but they knew it was something that took more time – and more time was something they did have, especially here, on their walk towards the mountain, that was reaching high up, the green of the grass, the brown of the giant trees of an ancient forest, and the sparkling white of what they assumed to be snow at the top that stood in a sharp contrast to the soft peach and pink colour of the not-yet blue morning sky.   
  
The air around them was slowly warming as the sun rose higher and higher, and they noticed the flowers, prettier than either of them had ever seen before – different as well – the flowers that were growing at the sides of something that was starting to look like a path. It was not muddy, nor was it the clean grass they had grown used to feel under the soles of their feet. This was something that felt more sturdy, although not painful like a path made of rocks would have been – a strong feeling, but still a particular kind of soft, and something that altogether still felt quite pleasant.   
  
Their faces were smooth and they were feeling young, and so vibrantly alive, much more than they had been the past years or maybe all of their lives. Neither of them knew whether it was because of this place, or only because they were here together without anyone else around them - like what had become the standard it seemed, in the years of fame before. There was no stubble on their chins, or dark circles under their eyes, or even as much as an occasional pimple that sometimes showed up on the surface of their skins. There was no greasy shine on their noses, or a hair out of place on their heads, and although it was slightly disturbing to look at someone by your side, looking this perfect, this flawless, they did understand: nothing in this place was misfit, and so it made sense that they weren't either.   
  
A sharp intake of breath caught Paul's attention, and he looked over at John – who on his turn was staring in the distance, looking startled, his eyes big and his mouth opened in some sort of shock, Paul assumed. He as well turned his head, and saw the same sight that had drawn John's interest. There was an animal sitting on the paths, still several yards away from them, but near enough to see it clearly. It was unlike anything either of them had seen before – huge wings that at first were still spread out, slowly sliding through the air, and although the moment they had noticed the animal it didn't fly anymore, it was obvious it was capable of. It was white, with feathers as well as scales, and it looked – of all creatures they _had_ heard of – most like a dragon of some kind. It slowly shook its head, and then turned it in the direction of where John and Paul were standing, piercing - nearly icy blue eyes meeting their brown eyes. The blue gaze wasn't filled with anger, though, or cold feelings towards them. It rather was something of misunderstanding, a lack of knowledge perhaps. No wrath towards them as persons, but maybe because they weren't meant to be here – although either of them doubted as they were feeling perfectly at comfort in this habitat.   
  
In the mean time, the wings of the animal had folded around its own body, covering up the light feathers and showing the texture of scales. They didn't look as white as both men had thought at first – in the sunlight they were shining blue and green, and when the animal slowly walked away the cold colours became vivid oranges, reds, and yellows.   
  
When it was out of sight, they started to walk again, and still neither of them spoke a word – even now they felt like they were running out of time. By now, while neither of them had been aware of it, the rising sun had reached high, taking a mighty place up in the sky, far above their heads. The mountain was still far ahead of them, laying peacefully within a sea of greens and browns and the snow shimmering on the top. The dew on the grass had completely gone now – and, somehow, as they perceived more and more changes around them, they realised that – maybe – heaven wasn't made for them.   
  
They were being excluded while they were watching. Although they weren't sure whether it was such a bad thing – it wasn't exactly as if they had indulged their lives in purity.


	2. Level 1: Limbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Dante's Inferno – Level 1: Limbo (2/10?)  
> Rating: PG (will likely go up as story develops)  
> Word Count: 1284  
> Disclaimer: I don't own the Beatles; this story is purely fictional. No copyright infringement is intended.  
> A/N: The second part. Or, in other words, the first level of hell. Leave a comment, if you want to, and concrit is much appreciated. I'm not so sure if I like this chapter a lot, but whatever, really. I hope you will. :) Also: sorry for the wait! 
> 
> I want to thank gloigloi for advising me to read “Inferno" by Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle. It's quite a fantastic book, and in the future chapters I will probably take the liberty to use some of their ideas, although I haven't really in this chapter, seen as most of it was thought out and written before I bought the book.

  
Level 1: Limbo  
  
Charon ushers you across the river Acheron, and you find yourself upon the brink of grief's abysmal valley. You are in Limbo, a place of sorrow without torment. You encounter a seven-walled castle, and within those walls you find rolling fresh meadows illuminated by the light of reason, whereabout many shades dwell. These are the virtuous pagans, the great philosophers and authors, unbaptised children, and others unfit to enter the kingdom of heaven. You share company with Caesar, Homer, Virgil, Socrates, and Aristotle. There is no punishment here, and the atmosphere is peaceful, yet sad.

  
  
  
Their brown eyes watched as they could actually see snow melting, with the water running down the mountain that was starting to decrease in height; slowly it was becoming nothing more than a hill, like every other hill that was surrounding them now, soft slopes in the landscape - like the curves of a woman. The melt water formed a lake at first, far away still, and as more snow turned to liquid it started to become a river, with water that flowed clearly, lapping at the rocks as the mud was being washed away from the stones, lying just underneath what had once been grass and a path. The stones were varying in colour, from black to emerald, and brown to blue. Reds and yellows were rarer, but there as well, and the rippling of the water gave a nice background sound.  
  
Around them everything still was green, the meadows the same as they remembered every field in England, and there was shade here, given not only by the slight curves in the landscape but also coming from the trees that had sprouted on them, big but not in many numbers – a few large trees that were spreading shades over the grass every here and there, shattered over the meadows like they were flaws from nature – but not entirely misplaced at the same time either.   
  
They approached the river, where a boat was waiting for them. It was made out of wood, darkened by the water and grey from its apparent old age, and they could see it had been used before, several times. They stepped in, and the water under them seemed to play tricks with them – one moment rough still, so they had trouble keeping their balance, and the next the boat was slicing through the water as if the wood and the fluid were working together, one unity rather than two separate elements.   
  
Slowly, more sounds were reaching their ears, over the noise of the river. When they got out of the boat, they saw a castle appear in front of them – literally being shaped from thin air. A cool breeze carried voices along, muffled and they stopped walking for a moment, trying to catch a phrase.   
  
As they did so, John noticed something had changed about Paul – he wasn't as perfect as he was before. There was a light stubble on his chin, darkening his face and making him look more human than before, and when Paul became aware of the changes as well, they both knew something had changed along with the imperfections. Forgotten memories flooded back, settling heavy like a stone in the pit of their stomach and bringing a long-forgotten burning feel back to their eyes. Making them remember why they were here, and why they were together, but hadn't been before, for such a long time, almost impossibly long even – an eternity it seemed now.   
  
After they swallowed, they clasped their hands together again, and made their way over to the castle, the voices growing louder as the wind didn't have to carry them as far. There were words, wise words and powerful words that held the same feeling of melancholy to it as what had just taken over John and Paul. Old words, ancient even, and children's voices as well – something they weren't quite prepared for.   
  
When they reached the building, a lot larger than they had suspected, they first felt the walls to make sure it wasn't an illusion, but real as something could be. It was solid as a rock, and it showed in no way that at first sight it had been a castle made out of air.   
  
They waited for the gates as they were opened, for just the two of them, and then walked in.   
  
All around them were people gathered, sitting together and speaking to each other. Children were running around, hiding behind the trees, or laying in the grass, being lulled to sleep by the voices around them. Although the air was filled with different tongues, they understood each word infallible, and recognised the ideas of the great philosophers among the speakers, authors they had read.   
  
The walls were high around them, casting shades over the fields that seemed to continue endlessly, even though they were aware there had to be walls on the other side, too. The light was still shining brightly, casting the illusion of glitter over trees and grass, the hair of the old men and the young children, everything in between, in a way impossible on the earth, in a manner everything around them was, so vividly alive.  
  
And they could feel something burn in their stomachs, too, along with the heavy feeling still there. Something that gave hope and love, among artists alike them. John would most of all go and look for his childhood idols, whereas Paul would most rather go wander off somewhere, think about everything he'd been through, together with John, and what the memories flooding back meant. They looked at each other, and still there was no need for words – even though there were plenty floating through the air around them, they understood each other without.  
  
Nobody as much as looked at them. It was like they were invisible, among greater people than themselves, people who had become legends over the years, stories being told over and over again on the earth, and yet here they were still themselves and still so very human. Nobody cared for what somebody had been in the life before coming here, and the peace it brought along was both nice and frightening – they were used to the attention of the press and of the public, of the fans and of the obsessed.   
  
The occasional empty – or at least filled with neither admiration or recognition – glance, cast in their direction, made them feel slightly distraught.   
  
In fact, it almost seemed as if they weren't actually seen.   
  
Maybe they weren't.  
  
They walked on, further through the fields, and eventually – though it could have been just a minute, as well as an eternity, neither of them really knew – they reached fields that were less crowded, empty even sometimes. The sun still stood high above the meadows, and it still shone pleasantly like before, and a wall was appearing in front of them again – the other side of the castle, at last.   
  
They touched it, carefully, while they were searching for each other's eyes again - and still they hadn't spoken, not until now, because everything had been so easy to go through until now.   
  
“I hadn't thought being unrecognisable like this would feel as awful," John finally said, and the look on Paul's face set grim.   
  
“Me neither," he admitted.   
  
Then his hand fell through the castle's wall, as it seemed to disappear – becoming the air again they had seen it being made of before.   
  
While Paul was trying to get up from the ground he was laying on, everything around them darkened; the sundown had come early and unexpected. 


End file.
